Pools of Grief
by From Spark to Flame
Summary: It is said that the eyes are the window to your soul. Then why do Harry's show pain and grief? A story of Snape's ponderings. Based off yet another Emily Dickinson poem.


**Summary:** It is said that the eyes are the window to your soul. Then why do Harry's show pain and grief? A story of Snape's ponderings. Based off and Emily Dickinson poem...again.

**Disclaimer:** The poem and Harry Potter series are not mine. The first belongs to Emily Dickinson and the latter belongs to JKR.

**A/N: Yay! Another little oneshot based off an Emily Dickinson poem. One of my favorite poems actually. And no- I am not obsessed with Emily Dickinson, I just like her poems. Please check out my other ones too!**

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Severus Snape sat at the head table nursing a migraine and cursing under his breath. The students were all sitting at their respective tables chattering away like little pests. Snape groaned in irritation. The welcoming was such a pain. A whole new school year with a whole new batch of unruly children. And then there were the older brats. Even after years of potions, they still blowed things up.

"My boy, are you okay?" Snape looked up to see the Headmaster looking over at him solicitously.

"Of course I am okay. I'm just having lots fun contemplating teaching some new dunderheads about how to blow up potions," Snape sneered back sarcastically. "And I am not, in any way, 'your boy.'" Dumbledore just looked at him knowingly with the stupid ever-present twinkle in his eye.

"Oh don't worry Severus. You will evoke fear into their hearts very soon," Dumbledore responded chuckling. Snape just sent a patented you-may-be-my-boss-but-you-piss-me-off death glare at Dumbledore.

"Yes, I will. But that won't stop them from blowing things up," Snape said. "If only, I could teach a class that would be a little less ruinous."

Dumbledore's face became grave, "Severus, you know that I cannot give you that job."

"Whatever you say."

"You know, Lily's boy is a part of this group of first years," Dumbledore commented sorrowfully. Snape stiffened in his seat, his eyes wide. "This had to happen someday, you know. Remember your promise. Protect him,"

Snape schooled his face to show indifference. "I'll keep that in mind," His voice sounded nonchalant, but Dumbledore knew that it was strained.

"Severus I really think that-" but Dumbledore was cut off, at the opening of the Great Hall's doors. McGonagall strode in, followed by the newest brats of Hogwarts. The first years.

Severus ignored the sorting for the most part, only clapping when necessary. "Potter, Harry"

Snape's eyes snapped up. And there he was. The Savior of the Wizarding World. The Boy Who Lived. Lily's son. Harry Potter.

Snape didn't know what he was expecting. A spoiled snob like Malfoy? A know-it-all? A mini-James Potter? Another caring, over compassionate Lily? Someone proud. That was for sure. A young boy that puffed up his chest in pride. Seemingly brave. Concieted. Decked in the finest robes he could buy.

But no. Harry was…pitiful. A young skinny raven haired boy hesitantly stepped forward. Snape's eyes roved over the boy's body. He was thin. Almost too thin to be healthy. The boy had sallow, pale skin and crooked, taped-up glasses that lay at the bridge of his nose. He was short compared to the other boys, probably the shortest of them. Harry looked around nervously, biting his lip before putting on the hat. Snape filed the peculiar attributes of the boy away for later analysis.

"Gryffindor!" The house shouted.

Gryffindor. The apple never falls far from the tree. No matter how thin he was, he was still a James Potter replica. Harry probably had the same attitude as his late father. After all, he had grown up as a hero. Snape thought that he'd probably see the same infallible aura coming off of Harry too.

The sorting dragged on, for what seemed like hours. The announcements were made and the feast appeared. Snape loaded his plate and began to eat, mulling over the Potter boy.

A few minutes into the feast, Snape felt eyes on him. Now normally, this isn't something most people felt. But then again, most people were not spies.

Snape looked up and he was met with a curious, bright green gaze.

I measure every grief I meet

With analytic eyes;

And in this gaze, he was met with grief. Yes there was happiness and amazement, but hidden deep inside those emerald pools, there was pain and sorrow. Grief. In a child's eyes. The eyes looked away, breaking Snape's analasys.

And that was when Snape realized who's eyes those where. Harry Potter's. Everyone was right. He really did have Lily's eyes. Her eyes had been like an open book. Very easy to read. Harry's were too. It is said that someone's eyes are the window to their soul.

Why was Harry's soul aching? Where did the misery come from? Snape just shook his head. No, it was nothing serious. Probably about something he's left behind at hime. Maybe he was ad about leaving his affectionate family, his wealth, or maybe a girlfriend. Maybe he was disappointed about having to have to come to Hogwarts like a normal wizard. Yes, it was a sad, pathetic, selfish reason. Snape reasoned to himself. He decided that he hadn't had enough time to fully analyze those eyes. He had merely just skimmed the top.

I wonder if it weighs like mine,

Or has an easier size.

No real pain. No real grief. Nothing close to what Snape felt. Harry had never experienced the crucitatus. He had never murdered and raped. He hadn't sinned like Snape had. He hadn't felt the loneliness of having no friends. He hadn't been hated be people. He hadn't felt heartbreak or desertion. No, Harry Potter grew up loved and coddled. And now he was going to live a perfect life. Gradutate Hogwarts, defeat the dark lord, and live happily ever after. No, his pain would not be the same.

But then again, the pain was evident. It shone brightly through the happiness. For someone as well trained as Snape, it was obvious. Snape glanced up, examining the boy. Yes, the pain was there. And it was deep.

I wonder if they bore it long,

Or did it just begin?

Snape sighed. The Potter boy was an enigma. Those eyes. Potter couldn't that sad because of something petty. Snape's conscience told him that. No matter how much he looked like James, he still had some of Lily in him. Harry had experienced things. His eyes proved it. But for how long, and for what, Snape could not tell.

Snape himself went through pain for a long time. But he shielded his eyes, masked them with coldness. Pain was something that sometimes never goes away. Snape knew that by experience.

I could not tell the date of mine

It feels so old a pain.

Snape got hurt. There are somethings in the world that you can never unsee. That can't be undone. The pain is also there to stay. And everytime Snape got hurt, it was there to stay. And over the years it built. Because no one, nothing, could heal it. Not his mother after his father's beatings, not Madame Promfey after death eater meetings, not Dumbledore after the war, not even Lily herself.

It was 3 years later, when Snape once again looked into Harry Potter's eyes. In a way, he was afraid of them. Scared to see pain once again and for his ideas t be contradicted. The more pain he saw, the more his image as a mini James Potter was shattered.

The end of the Twiwizard Tournament. The leaving feast. The school was mourning, but most of all was Potter. He sat there in a daze, moving around the food on his plate. Snape's heart gave a pang for him. (Stupid, betraying heart!) Snape knew how it felt to have a comrade die in your arms. He knew how it felt to be the one responsible for the death. He remembered his first murder. And when Snape felt that pain, he was 20.

And here was Harry, a fourteen year old boy, with someone's death on his hands. Snape sat there, observing Harry when Harry looked up.

And once again, Snape was met with the bright, pain-filled eyes of the The Boy Who Lived.

I wonder if it hurts to live,

And if they try;

Again, Snape was met with the same pools of grief, only deeper. Hadn't they gone away? Was Harry's pain like Snape's? Was it there to stay? Had Harry's wounds not healed? What about Weasley? And Granger? Weren't they there for him? Why was his pain still there? Was it self-inflicted?

And whether they choose between,

They would rather not die.

Snape, during the first war, had killed. He killed heaps of men and women. Even now, Snape regretted those deaths. He hated killing, but it was inevitable. It was war, people would die. And now, another war would begin. And more would die. Diggory was just the first of the casualties. Harry needed to know that. It wasn't his fault. The pain in his eyes was unnecessary. It could be avoided.

I wonder if when years have piled,-

Some thousands on the cause

Of early hurt if such a lapse

Could give them any pause;

This time, it was Snape that broke the contact. The pain was to much for him. It was fresh. It reminded him to much of his own sins.

But after that, everyday, Snape made sure to make eyes contact with Harry. To measure the grief hidden deep in those eyes.

Or would they go aching still

Through centuries above,

Snape dug into Harry's mind frantically. He was searching for the cause. The cause of the pain in his student's eyes. Yes, he was supposed to be teaching the boy how to protect his mind, but first, he wanted to use the opportunity to find the source. The mysterious pain.

He searched, shuffling through the memories. Weasley and Finnagen goofing off in the common rooms. Granger scolding Harry and Weasley. Draco's latest shouting match with Harry. Umbridge's detention. Cho and Harry under a mistle- Suddenly, Snape was pushed out of Harry's mind.

Snape was suddenly bombarded with his own memories. Once Snape pushed Harry out of his mind, Harry ran out the door. Snape took a pill to help with his migrane and sat down. The Chnag girl set him off. She better be good to him. Harry didn't need any more pain.

Enlightened by a larger pain

By contrast with love

And then the mutt died. Of course Snape didn't care. But others obviously did. The others 'grieved.' But Snape could tell it was not real mourning. They were sad, yes, but the grief never reached their eyes.

The grieved are many, I am told

The reason deeper lies,-

But Harry. The new pain was fresh, and the boy was constantly on the brink of tears. His pain showed. There was no happiness anymore. No, it was all an emerald green ocean of pain.

Death is but one and comes but once,

And only nails the eyes.

Yet another death. More pain in those eyes. And this time. It was Snape's fault.

Snape wasin the woods, watching Dumbledore's funeral. He couldn't risk going out, but no one would check the woods. He was watching the mourners speak. Their mouth's moved, but Snape couldn't hear them. Snape didn't care. Only a few select people only really knew Dumbledore. The other's had only known his fame. And it was there, that he saw those glistening emeralds, brimming, once again, with tears.

There's grief of want, and grief of cold,-

A sort they call "despair",-

There's banishment from native eyes,

In sight of native air,

Snape stood up, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. He knew that Harry's pain would last, just like Snape's did. But he also knew that the pain wouldn't keep Harry down. O- Harry would work. Harder than he had ever worked before. From now on, Harry would be serious. He would kill Voldemort. Not in revenge. No- in an act of justice. And Snape vowed to help him. If not directly, then from afar. Harry would survive this. He would win.

Harrry's pain was one that lasted. But Snape knew that Harry had the strength to face it, just as Snape faced his.

And though I may not guess the kind

Correctly, yet to me

A piercing comfort it affords

In pressing Cavalry.

To note the fashions of the cross

Of those that stand alone,

Still fashioned to presume

That some are like my own.

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